


It Takes One to Know One

by kittykitty30



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, i think i have most of it covered though, if i forgot any trigger tags please shoot me a message and i'll add it in, im trash for this show right now, in which sport helps the purple man HEAL, just be ready for that, let me have my robbie rotten angst, like reeeeeally slow burn, number nine can eat my entire ass honestly what an awful guy, number nine was a DICK, someone save robbie please, this is my first contribution to this fandom so if you're reading this i appreciate you, this man is not okay, this might turn into sportarobbie idk keep your eyes peeled, you can pry these tropes from my cold dead fingers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-07-06 08:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykitty30/pseuds/kittykitty30
Summary: Robbie's latest invention backfires, leaving him trapped in his lair. When Sportacus starts to search for him, though, he finds more than he ever expected...





	1. Prologue

At first, it was hard for Robbie to accept that he was trapped. His latest invention, a cannon designed to quite literally shoot Sportacus back into his airship, had not worked as planned; when Robbie lit a match and raised a flickering flame to the wick for the machine’s first official test, a stray trail of gasoline had done a little more than just ignite the cannon. Instead of sending Robbie’s test dummy upwards into the air, it sent the dummy flinging up through the silo chute as a projectile. Robbie had a total of two seconds to duck beneath his balcony before the entire tunnel burst into flames, stray pieces of metal falling down and blocking the opening completely. The only injury was a gash to Robbie’s leg from a piece of flying debris; the lair wasn’t the worst for wear, but it was now coated in a thick layer of dust and fallen steel.

But Robbie didn't care about that. Instead, he cared about the fact that he was now stuck underground. He did try to clean up the scraps, he really did; as soon as his leg was wrapped tightly with purple gauze, he’d set to work, tossing aside debris in a desperate attempt to reach the top. But, alas, much like a child who’s fallen down a mineshaft, there was no returning to the surface for Robbie. The tunnel was destroyed. 

“This is fine,” Robbie told himself, panic making his heart race and his blood run cold. He stepped back from the pile of twisted steel, his eyes wide and his jaw grinding against itself. His voice suddenly felt louder, like an echo through the dark; unreached by any audience except its source. “It’s… fine. Everything is.. Fine.” With a sullen expression, he slowly made his way towards his large, orange chair, his mind screaming obscenities. “Now I don’t have to deal with those noisy kids, or Sportaflop’s flips, or sportscandy.” He wrinkled his nose at the very thought of such things, sagging down into his chair with a shake of his head. “This is nice, actually. I… could get used to this. To peace! And quiet!” _I’m lying to myself and I know it. Find a way out. Soon._ “Maybe now I can finally take a nice, long, well-deserved nap.” _Sleep on it, think of something, anything, just find a way out. I can’t stay here like a trapped raccoon. Who do I think I am? Some kind of caged animal? They’ll be putting a headstone over my billboard. ‘Here Lies That Guy Who Was Stuck.’ I’ll never see the daylight again. I’ll die down here._

These dramatic thoughts were the first in a long, long line of dramatic thoughts. Robbie wasn’t wrong, though. He was as good as dead down here. Sure, he could keep feeding himself through his cake machines, and his cupboards were always fully-stocked with ingredients, but how long would this last? How long would _he_ last? He decided that, instead of focusing on the inevitable, as he was so apt to do during stressful situations like these, he would focus on finding a way out of this self-made safespace hellhole. After all, it was the only thing he could do. With an uncomfortable grunt, he swung his legs up onto the chair, curled in on himself, and drifted off into an uneasy slumber. As per the usual, no dreams came to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! In light of Stefan's recent passing, I've been sinking myself further into this fandom than I ever thought I would. This first chapter is just a short introduction into the story line; I'll try to update this as often as I can. I have a lot planned here! If you want to contact me outside of AO3, you can find me on Tumblr at optimistic-fangie.tumblr.com, or my Lazytown sideblog, just-being-lazy.tumblr.com. I've never written a shorter introductory chapter, the next one will be much, much longer! Pinkie swear!


	2. Chopin's Nocturne, Op. 9, No. 2

It’s hard to gauge the passage of time from the confines of an underground tomb. This might not seem like a problem for someone such as Robbie, who was notorious for spending long periods of time asleep in his lair; if anyone in Lazytown cared about the time, it sure as hell wasn’t Robbie. Time was an illusion to him, when he had control over it; that was the biggest issue with being stuck. He had no control. He _hated_ that. He found himself unable to sleep; before long, he was up, pacing about the ruins of his once-pristine home, hobbling as his leg refused to cooperate.

”There must be _something_ I can do to get out of here,” he growled to himself, his arms crossed tightly. “Some kind of invention, some kind of cannon to blow the whole roof off-” Was he really willing to do that, though? No. He knew he didn’t have it in him to further destroy what little was left. As he paced, his eyes slowly circled the twisted carnage of his home. His shelter. His safe space. It was irreparable. He felt tears of frustration stinging at his eyes; once again, his incompetence had rendered something destroyed. _There’s nothing I can do to fix it._

He stopped atop his balcony, and he leaned forward, pressing his arms against the melted steel in defeat. He was finding it hard to stand for long periods of time; that leg would need professional attention, certainly. He could recall, once upon a time, being stuck in a similar situation; a brief memory flashed in his mind of his leg being ripped to shreds, as though by the teeth from an unforgiving dog, and he shook his head quickly. Some memories were meant to be buried. Besides, this wasn’t the time to dwell on the past; this was the time to _think._ What could he do to get out of here?

”I’m living the dream,” he muttered, and he felt a dull throbbing in his head, like someone very small had climbed inside his skull and was tapping away with a hammer. “So why am I not enjoying it? The loneliness! I am alone! At _last_ I have peace! So why.. am I not.. _enjoying_ it?”

Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was no longer in control. Yes, that must be it. Control. He didn’t have much control in his life, as depression and anxiety continuously weighed him down; but what he _could_ control was who he talked to, and when, and where. If he spent a week on his couch, bingeing Twin Peaks and going through four packs of Coca-Cola without ever saying a word to the others, then that was fine, because that was his _choice_. Being solitary as a choice was one thing; being solitary without a choice was another entirely. Robbie slowly looked down at his leg, his jaw tightening. He had no way of seeing a doctor, though he knew he needed it.

Somewhere in the depths of his lair, something stirred. A cold shiver ran down his spine as the heavy silence was pierced with the clicking of a record being placed upon a gramophone; Chopin’s Nocturne op. 9 No. 2 began to play, smooth, tranquil piano keys warped by the age of the record. Robbie’s brow furrowed- it’d been a long, long time since he’d listened to his records, and even longer since he’d had a guest. Who, or _what_ , was down here with him? He could hear tapping, like ballet shoes against a hard floor, and he felt a jolt of anger in his chest.

”Rottenella, now is not the time,” he growled, but he wasn’t entirely sure how his wind-up ballerina had been activated in the first place. As she danced into view, pirouetting around the corner from the hallway, he immediately took a step back in surprise and horror, sending pain shooting through his leg; her porcelain features were cracked, her hair melted and hanging, her lips pressed down in an unnaturally wide frown. She was melting, broken, her nails long and jagged, her teeth cracked like eggshells beneath her once immaculately painted lips. Robbie blinked, and she collapsed to the floor in a jumble of melted wires as Chopin’s Nocturne continued to crackle from the gramophone in the far closet. Robbie’s anger was replaced with sadness, a massive wave of it, and he sank to the floor, releasing his grip on the balcony railing. Not a moment passed before he was curled in on himself, crying into his palms.

Somewhere outside, Sportacus’s crystal beeped.

\---------------

”Who could that be?” the elf wondered, looking at the children as they played at his feet. They were on the basketball court, drawing on the cool asphalt with colored chalk, while Bessie and Milford lounged on a bench, bundled up against the cold December weather. They were enjoying their last snow-free day before a blizzard was due to hit. Sportacus looked around, searching for someone in trouble, but he couldn’t see a soul; all residents were in their houses, warm, snuggled up by their fireplaces or cuddled beneath their blankets. _That only leaves Robbie._

”Who is it, Sportacus?”

Stephanie asked, looking up at her blue-clad hero with curious eyes. The elf looked down at her, worry creeping down his spine.

”I think it might be Robbie,” he responded, much to the disgust of the others.

”Ugh! That guy!” Ziggy exclaimed, not looking up from his drawings. “Please don’t go, Sportacus!”

”Ziggy, we help everyone who’s in trouble, not just our close friends,” Sportacus reminded the boy with a small smile before turning away to go. “I’ll be back!”

”Let me come with you!” Stephanie exclaimed, leaping to her feet.

”I think you’d better stay here, Stephanie,” Sportacus responded gently, much to the pink girl’s dismay. “If Robbie is in trouble, it might be dangerous, especially so close to a storm.”

”Aw, okay, Sportacus. I trust you,” she replied, and he smiled and waved before vaulting over the walls of the town, headed out towards Robbie’s lair.

When he arrived, however, something felt very, very wrong. The first thing he noticed when he stepped through the door in the billboard was the thin layer of soot that covered the very rim of the silo’s entrance. When he pulled on the handle, nothing came of it; with a frown, he assumed it was locked, and he gave a few tentative knocks.

”Robbie? Are you down there?” he called. He swore he could hear faint music down below, so Robbie had to be home, right?

When no response came, Sportacus attempted to open the silo once again. This was more than merely locked, as he was strong enough to break any padlock; no, something was very, very wrong here, as no matter how hard he pulled, the elf could not pry it open. _I don’t know what’s going on down there, but it must be bad._

”Hang in there, Robbie! I’m going to think outside the box,” Sportacus called, unsure if the villain could even hear him, but it didn’t matter. He raised a finger and called for a rope; his airship complied, and he tied a hefty square knot around the silo’s hatch before calling for a ladder.

It didn’t work. When he tried to fly the airship away from the silo, and therefore remove the hatch entirely, the airship did not budge, and with a heavy heart, Sportacus watched the rope as it was stretched until it snapped. There was no easy way down into the lair; as his crystal continued to beep, he felt, for the first time in his life, hopeless. _This is going to require help._

\----------

Robbie could remember, once, long, long ago, a time when he did not dare leave his lair. How ungrateful he’d been for his freedom, back then! If he’d have known that he’d be doomed to die down there, trapped, then he’d never have spent as much time down there as he did. He felt angry at his younger self for being so scared of the outdoors, and, more specifically, the hero who came before Ten.

”Should have left while I had the chance,” he snarled to himself, forcing himself to his feet and hobbling down the stairs towards his chair. “Should never have taken advantage of what it felt like to be _free…_ ”

These feelings were not healthy, but what about Robbie _was?_ Robbie sank down into his orange chair and slid his burning gaze to the dilapidated doll, laying still on his floor, a piece of his past that had come back to haunt him. She was such wonderful symbolism for the hopelessness he felt; much like the heat-damaged toy, Robbie felt as though he were no more than a crushed dream, a failed scheme, a nobody. The crackling record finally reached the end, and the tip of the needle scratched against the vinyl, endless, until something down in the depths of his hallway picked it up, placed it at the beginning, and allowed the song to repeat once again. Robbie knew, in that instant, that he was not alone down here, but what could he do? With an injured leg and a hopeless heart, he couldn’t find the motivation to stand, much less run. He couldn’t hear any footsteps over the sound of the haunting melody surrounding him, and so, accepting his fate, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Had he bothered glancing towards the hallway, he would have noticed a pair of white, round eyes, glowing in the darkness, staring, waiting. When the song finished once again, this creature replayed it; Robbie opened his eyes, and stood, stretching his arms. He ignored the hallway as he made way towards his kitchenette, hunger gnawing at his insides. _I have to keep myself fed while I’m down here._ He did not dare look towards the darkness of the hall; rather, he focused on making sure that his cake machine worked. He had to rewire a few things, but for the most part, his prized possession had survived the blast, and so he tossed in whatever junk was left laying on the half-melted workbench. Not many things were left unscathed; he noticed that his disguise tubes were cracked, leaking magic into the air, and there were spare parts scattered everywhere amongst chunks of roof and plaster.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the cake that his machine produced; still not looking down the hall, he returned to his chair with a fresh slice, and he sat down, knowing not to bother with the television. It would be broken beyond repair, no doubt; and so, as Chopin’s delicate song repeated once again, he took a bite, and then another, and another.

Ignorance is bliss, or the lack thereof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooooly shit guys, I'm so, so sorry for updating so late! My schedule is NOT kind to me, and this is the first chance I've had to really write. Please take this as a token of my gratitude for those of you who waited patiently! Thank you for all of your wonderful comments, they really do influence me to keep writing. Y'all are the best! :)


	3. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Here you guys go! I'm not abandoning this bad boy, I swear! I have some exciting news: I'm assistant directing a play, designing the lighting effects for a musical, and will be directing a play of my own writing in August! Isn't that just dandy?! Unfortunately, it's my senior year, so I'm a bit caught up with scholarship applications and GPA tweaks and all those bells and whistles and sparkplugs that go into creating a fine-oiled college student, but I was accepted to my first choice university and have a solid life plan, so here goes nothing! My updates might be a bit sporadic, but your comments and kudos have been keeping me motivated, so I promise I'm not going to give up on this! This chapter is very short, so I'll work extra hard to make sure it's made up for in the next chapter. Who's ready for some angst? ;D I'm very grateful for the support all of you have given me, and I hope this piece doesn't disappoint! I'm pulling for you, we're all in this together, and keep your stick on the ice!

”If I hear this song one more time,” Robbie growled through his teeth, his head bowed and his cake unfinished. It had now been ten days since the blast that destroyed the exit to Robbie’s lair, and from the dark corners of this hellhole played a soft, soothing piano melody that made the pinstriped man’s ears bleed. He brought his hands to his ears with a slow glare towards the dark hallway; he’d not slept for quite some time, and when he shifted his eyes too far to one side, sharp jolts of pain shot through his brow. His nose curled- he wouldn’t take any more of this. It didn’t help that he’d run out of junk to use as cake ingredients about three days ago. And that music, that _goddamned_ music, never ceased its lilting tone.

Robbie slowly brought himself to his feet. Every ounce of magic he had left was being funneled into his leg, and it was no longer much of an issue- but time was a construct with melted clocks and crackling electricity, so Robbie couldn’t tell how long he’d been trapped, or how long it’d taken for his leg to heal. This was worrisome for a variety of reasons, but perhaps the most unsettling of all was that nobody had come to check on him. Not that he knew about, anyway. How could they just…. _forget?_ He’d always known they hated him, and he’d never expected for them to come find him, but he’d always grasped some small hope that maybe, _maybe, _they did like him, and they did want him around. It was crushing to know that this was not the case.__

____

”What are you doing, standing like that?” The voice came from every direction, echoing above the scratchy gramophone and filling Robbie’s mind painfully. He kept his hands planted firmly on his ears, glaring with a great deal of fatigue down the dark, ominous hallway. From the depths of blackness, those two pristine, snow white eyes blinked.

____

”You know better than to walk while you’re still recovering,” the voice continued. It was young and old, masculine and feminine, high and low in pitch, and yet mesmerizing all the same. Robbie froze in his spot, his jaw setting firmly. If he didn’t get sleep soon, this bullshit was going to keep happening, and he would rather die than let that be the case. He took a step towards his bedroom.

____

”I’m not just a dream, you know,” the voice snapped, reacting angrily to Robbie’s attempt at escape from sentience. “I’m just as real as you and you know it.”

____

”Lay off it,” Robbie grumbled, taking another shuffling step.

____

”If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re scared to face me, is that true?” The eyes were glaring now, hard slits for pupils boring through Robbie like a twin pair of knives. But the man did not take heed; he took another step, then another, and another.

____

”I’ll tear you apart! Limb for limb!”

____

”And I suppose you’ll spare me the trouble of waiting?” Robbie clapped back, freezing in his tracks. “You’re all bark and no bite. I had a dog like you once. He didn’t last long.”

____

”You wouldn’t be able to visualize me, anyway,” the eyes replied. “I’m too complex for such a simple mind as yourself.”

____

”Be that as it may,” Robbie responded, “can’t you see I am _tired?_ I want nothing to do with you! Nothing!”

____

”Is that so?” The voice sounded genuinely confused, and those peering eyes blinked once again. “I thought you’d grown accustomed to me, Robbie.”

____

”I don’t care,” said Robbie, “if I’ve known you a decade or a day. I want to sleep. You are in the way of that.” He pointed an accusational finger at the white eyes. “Get _out_ of the way of that, and I will be more inclined to receive you warmly.”

____

The eyes vanished, and the record clicked at long last as it was removed from the gramophone. Robbie exhaled lightly and finished trudging to his bedroom, where he collapsed atop his silk sheets and promptly fell into the deepest slumber of his life. Hunger will do that to a man, no matter how strong he thought he was. He was, therefore, asleep when Sportacus came knocking.

____

\----------

____

Sportacus wasn’t so easily swayed, oh no. Had he had to wait out the blizzard? Unfortunately, the answer to that was yes, and by the time he was able to step foot outside, the snow had piled six feet high, making it impossible to cross from his temporary abode- the Mayor’s office- all the way out to Robbie’s lair. But Robbie stayed clear in his thoughts, even when the children long forgot about him.

____

Today, the first day that the sun poked through the clouds in over a week, Sportacus called upon his airship. The children were confused, of course they were; why was he leaving so early in the morning? It was too cold outside, he really ought to come back in, and could he please bring home lots of sportscandy when he was finished up outside? But Sportacus paid them little heed, his mind focused on something else entirely as he climbed the icy ladder leading into his ship. How was he going to approach the Robbie situation? His crystal had stopped beeping, but it had not stopped flashing, and this worried him even more than he already was from not seeing Robbie. Something horrible had happened.

____

Sportacus welcomed the familiar sight of his humble home with a warm gaze, but only for a moment; he hastily flipped to the front of his ship, where he then proceeded to fling himself into the pilot seat and begin furiously pedaling. He wasn’t going to allow Robbie the satisfaction of dying; it was sad that he thought of it that way, but that’s how it often was with the villain. Robbie’s self-destructive tendencies were surely indicative of something else, some deep-rooted psychological issues that Sportacus was unsure of how to handle, but the least he could do, the very _least,_ was keep the villain alive. That’s exactly what his goal was as he hovered over the billboard, let down his ladder, and began to climb.

____

When he reached the concrete landing, he paused; the lid to the silo was frozen shut, but there was only one way to find out. He jumped quickly to the top of it and began to pull, planting his feet firmly against the side of the narrow tube in order to give himself a boost. The ice cracked, but the silo didn’t budge- Sportacus suddenly had a thought, a very scary thought, and he called for a sledgehammer, barely catching the beast with both hands and nearly toppling from the silo from the force of it. The snow was high enough to drown in; he’d need to be careful. Standing on the concrete landing, he raised the hammer and smashed it into the lid of the silo. The rest of the ice shattered, and Sportacus heard scraping indicative of a metal dislodge; dropping the hammer momentarily, he returned to the battered lid and pulled it open, revealing….. nothing. There was a solid chunk of metal blocking entrance, and it didn’t take long for Sportacus to realize what had happened.

____

”Oh, Robbie,” he said, softly, reaching down and running his hand along the soot-coated blockage. “What were you _doing?_ And why?”

____

At least he knew now what had happened. It was strange that the frozen metal had been easier to smash than the unfrozen metal, and as Sportacus climbed off of the silo, he began to think. Now was his time for breaking the rest of the metal, but the tunnel leading underground was a long one, and if there were more than one blockage, then he could easily run out of time. The metal Robbie liked using was clearly of low quality; maybe, just maybe, if he froze it and then destroyed it along the way, he could reach the bottom of the lair. But he needed to be fast about it- as soon as the temperature heated, and the metal expanded, there would be no way in, not to mention the longer he waited, the longer Robbie was in trouble.

____

”I’m coming for you, Robbie!” Sportacus suddenly found himself shouting down the silo. His voice bounced back to him quite quickly, but he held on to the faintest hope that Robbie would hear him somehow. “Okay, Robbie? I’m coming! I’m going to make sure you’re okay!”

____

He only hoped it was a promise he could keep.

____


	4. Flashes of the Past like Flashes of Lightning

This wasn’t the first time Robbie had been secluded in his lair for ten days.

He could remember, long ago, many years before the _current_ batch of children, when things had been, well, good. Much better than they were, which isn’t to say they were even relatively okay now; they were just… _better._ Robbie didn’t have to worry, back then, about silly backflipping athletes or whining kids or M.I.A parents. He was from a different generation, an era in which he could wander freely and disturb the town as he pleased, and he had preferred it that way. One day, about twelve years ago, when Robbie’s back didn’t ache and his joints didn’t protest, there had been a tragedy.

Now, Robbie was the world’s biggest purveyor of tragedies, don’t be fooled; he was overjoyed to see smoke billowing in the distance from the safety of his home, a _house,_ and a pretty purple one, at that. Looking through his casement windows, sipping at a large glass of coke, a smile rose upon his young lips. “Look at that,” he said to no one in particular, for he had no company. “What a pity. Someone’s gone and burnt the town hall.”

Someone had, indeed, gone and burnt the town hall, and sirens blared as fire engines raced down the hills from nearby towns. Lazytown didn’t have a fire station; nothing bad ever happened here, oh no, and there was never a need for it. Smoke as black as the night rose in a single pillar, tainting the blue sky grey and leaving a heavy odor hanging in the air. Robbie liked the smell, personally; it reminded him of warm cabins during cold winters, and he quite liked the idea that he was no longer the only provider of chaos in town. Someone else was doing his dirty work; he didn’t even have to lift a finger! Of course, he planned on taking credit for this heinous act. They’d be plastering his face in textbooks for years to come, warning children of his villainy and solidifying his name in history as the worst arsonist Lazytown had ever seen. For, as everyone knew, Lazytown had never had a fire. Nothing bad ever happened here, oh no indeed.

Robbie found that thought funny. Lazytown had never _had_ a fire. The very wording of the phrase made it sound as if the fire was merely a guest, like an unwanted aunt at Christmas dinner; no, we didn’t _have_ her this year, but we’d be happy to _have_ her again should she wish to come and share her unique views. Lazytown had never _had_ a fire. Robbie stifled a giggle and raised his cup to his lips, sipping more gelatinous soda, eyes glued on the rising stack of smoke and reddening, hazy atmosphere. 

He wasn’t the least bit surprised when the fire was too hot for water to douse. In the sky, through the dark clouds and thick haze, Robbie could make out a tiny, black speck; at first, he thought it might be an unfortunate bird choked by the tainted air, but as it drew nearer, it began to form a shape. It was like a floating oval, and it was a deep brown, golden stripes painted across it like the reflection of a forest in a pond. Robbie lowered his glass of soda, his eyes narrowing. What could _that_ be? It wasn’t a casual traveler, either; it became quite clear to him that it was headed deliberately for Lazytown, and as it slowed and hovered over the city center, Robbie felt a distinct sense of dread weigh down his stomach. A white ladder dropped, and down the ladder scampered a short man with chiseled muscles and an outfit that matched his ship. Robbie set the glass down, his nose twitching anxiously. _Who is this? Is he the one who started the fire?_

No- if he had started the fire, why was he talking with the mayor and emergency responders? Why was he raising a finger towards his ship and moving his lips in a way that suggested he was calling loudly for something? Why was he catching a hose and aiming it at the city hall? Why was he pulling back on the lever and spraying messy, white, viscous liquid at the burning building? Why did it succeed in slaughtering the flames? Why was he being hugged by the mayor and responders and townspeople? Why was he being led towards the town podium? Why was the mayor producing a large, golden medal and swinging it around his neck? Why was the town clapping and cheering for him? Why was he getting all of the attention and praise that Robbie had coveted for the past twenty years within four minutes of showing face for the first time? Robbie slammed his glass onto his windowsill, not caring that it nearly shattered as he quickly backed away. He needed to put a stop to this, and _now._

Robbie’s arms swung angrily as he picked his way around the town’s many cobwebby and dusty walls and benches, a great scowl upon his soft face. Now that he was outside, the cheering and clapping and warm welcomes were quite audible, a great racket abound; this all quickly died when Robbie stepped within the townspeople’s eyesight, and the tall man lumbered bitterly towards the stage, now getting a good look at the newcomer. He was a handsome man, no doubt, with dark hair and darker eyes, his ears hidden beneath a great golden beanie; the medal hanging over his chest was just a little too big for him, but he carried it as if it weighed nothing at all, and he gave a warm smile towards Robbie when approached. 

”You must be the town villain!” he exclaimed, his accent peculiar. Robbie crossed his arms, unconvinced of his amicability.

”You must be lost or something,” said Robbie loudly, feeling the weight of hundreds of silent eyes piercing into his skin. He liked being the center of attention, and he liked causing a scene, so he kept his volume loud enough for all in the gathered crowd to hear. “Lazytown doesn’t _accept_ heroes like you. _You don’t belong.”_

The little man’s smile faded, and his eyes began to gleam with something Robbie couldn’t recognize. It was something terrible, though, and Robbie didn’t like it one bit; he forced himself not to appear nervous, but it was difficult to do so. When the stranger spoke, there was stillness. “I think you’ll find that it’s _you_ who doesn’t belong.”

Robbie was quick to clap back. “Look around you,” he said, opening his arms and looking around the many faces that were staring up at him fearfully. “These people are scared of me. You should be, too. After all,” his gaze returned to the man haughtily, “I _am_ the best villain in the world.”

The hero did not try to mask his amusement, and he let out a booming laugh, wiping a tear from his eye. “I’ve seen better villains in pools of mud,” he said. “You didn’t even _try_ to cover your tracks when you started the fire.”

For some reason, a reason Robbie couldn’t place his finger on, he _hated_ suddenly being blamed for the fire. Only moments before, he’d been watching from his window, dreaming of stealing credit; now that the credit was being forced on him, the fun was gone, and it was replaced by a sickening sense that the situation was rapidly spiraling out of his control. He sputtered for a moment, his smug aura gone like the wind, before spitting out a response. “How do we know _you_ didn’t start it?!”

”Because I am a hero,” he replied, and he jerked his arms up, flexing his thick muscles for the crowd’s enjoyment. “I am hero Number Nine! I have come to Lazytown to keep you all safe from any harm that _this man_ does to you. What is your name, villain?”

Robbie didn’t want Number Nine to know his name, but before he could respond, it was being jeered by the crowd, their chants angry and full of blame. “Robbie Rotten! Robbie Rotten! His name is Robbie Rotten!” He felt humiliated, and he angrily waved off Number Nine, turning to walk away.

”Don’t you turn your back on me, Robbie Rotten,” Nine growled coldly, and Robbie froze, his spine creeping. He slowly turned back around, wary; the man addressed him with bitterness. “I’ll let you off with a warning, alright? I don’t want to hear that you started any more trouble.”

Robbie’s eyes narrowed into a glare. Oh, it was _on._ This tiny thing thought he could fly into town and act with any authority whatsoever? Yeah. Nice try. Robbie fought his way angrily through the screaming crowd, pushing people out of his way as he bulldozed a path back to his house. _You better sleep with one eye open,_ he thought, _because when I’m through with you, there’ll be nothing left to recognize._

\--------------------

Robbie waited inside his house until there were millions of stars above. When he stepped out of his front door, his breath floated in front of him, and he shivered, regretting his lack of any properly warm clothing. No matter; if all went to plan- and it often never did- then he’d be back inside his bed in less than an hour, satisfied that Number Nine was gone forever. He looked around warily; where was that pesky airship, anyway? It had looked _very_ flammable from afar, and if people were going to accuse Robbie of arson, then he may as well do it. He checked quickly to ensure that his packet of matches was full before stepping off of his front stoop and traversing through the breezy night in search of his new enemy’s hiding place.

It wasn’t nearly as far as Robbie had thought it might be, resting quietly on the ground in the park; silently, cleverly, stealthily, and all those other synonyms that describe sneakiness, Robbie stalked the airship, and when he drew close, he broke a stick from the pack and scraped it against the strip. It ignited in a controlled flash, and warm firelight illuminated Robbie’s face as he carefully stepped closer, and closer, and closer, the flames dancing in his eyes and visions of grandeur flickering in his mind. “Goodbye forever,” he whispered, “Number Nine.” With a flick of his wrist, he threw the matchstick at the airship, and was entirely surprised when Number Nine himself shot out a hand and snatched it midair.

”What the-!” Robbie exclaimed, doubling backwards in surprise as the hero front flipped out of his ship, standing menacingly in front of the taller man and planting his curled fists on his hips. His eyes landed quickly on the box of matches, and with lightning speed and sharpshooter accuracy, he snatched it from Robbie’s hand, holding it up close for inspection.

”I think I gave you the wrong idea,” Nine said, his tone unreadable, though Robbie found difficulty reading tones in general and was, therefore, an inaccurate judge of what a tone ought to sound like. “See, you’re supposed to burn things with matches, not throw them around like a nitwit.”

”You tricked me!” Robbie shouted in sudden realization. “That’s- that’s _unfair!”_

”You want to see unfair?” Nine asked, and he leaped over Robbie’s head before taking a running start at his house. Robbie whipped around and could only watch helplessly as the athlete reached his abode in no time at all. He felt a deep wave of sadness wash over him as Nine struck a match and turned around, facing Robbie with his face and hand illuminated. He was grinning through his glare. “This is what unfair looks like, Robbie! Take a good look!”

”No,” Robbie said, softly, and he took several steps forward, reaching out a numb hand to stop him. “Don’t.”

Still maintaining eye contact, Nine flicked the match over his shoulder, and it landed in the vines that crawled up Robbie’s wall, flickering for a moment before igniting. A slow flame began to climb the vines, and it began to grow wider, and wider, and wider, reaching the pipe to his gas stove; the flames grew in height as they began to eat at the wood of his house, and then, in one fell swoop, they reached the top of the pipe, and, consecutively, the corresponding fumes.

Nine flipped out of the way as Robbie’s house exploded, timbers as big as whales and machinery as heavy as bricks toppling through the air as though they weighed nothing. Robbie ducked and covered his head as debris rained down from above; the dark sky lit up with an orange glow, and as Robbie slowly raised his head to view the carnage, Nine shot a foot out, smashing his heel against Robbie’s skull and forcing his face into the freezing concrete.

”If you don’t quit after this,” he laughed, grinding Robbie’s cheek against the ground with his foot, “then I have no choice but to make your life a living hell. Do you want that, Robbie Rotten?”

Robbie was too full of hatred to respond. Nine took that as complacency, and he removed his foot from the man’s head, smiling broadly. “Good.” He then turned to greet the waking town as concerned citizens began to gather; he quickly joined their side and began to explain the explosion, how he’d been asleep in his airship when one of Robbie’s inventions backfired, and how terribly sorry he was to wake them, and he’d put the fire out as soon as he was able, and he’d see to it that Robbie had a place to stay. Meanwhile, Robbie slowly pulled himself to his feet, staring in shock at the concave where his house had once been.

 _How did he know I invent things?_ was all he could prompt himself to wonder as he listened to Nine’s crafty lies. He’d make that little shit wish he’d never flown into Lazytown. Vivid fantasies of ripping him apart limb for limb crossed his mind, and he had to take a seat on one of the park’s many benches, pushing his temple into his hands and fighting back tears. Everything he owned was gone; all of his memories, his inventions, his blueprints, _everything,_ was now ash and dust floating through the sky and infecting the once-clean air. He couldn’t control himself any longer; heaving a shaky breath, his shoulders trembled as he began to silently cry, tears flowing through the cracks between his fingers like cold drops of rain.

Incidentally, it was raining when he first found the maintenance tunnel.

\-------------

Lightning streaked through the sky angrily as Robbie circled the town in search of a place to find shelter. Everywhere he went, every business he visited, every home he knocked on, people turned him away with their petty excuses and snooty disregards; since Number Nine had stood up to him at the awards ceremony, they’d grown far less afraid of him, and they were no longer hesitant to treat him however they saw fit. Weary, soaked to the bone, and fighting off a slight cold, Robbie decided that if Lazytown didn’t want him, then he didn’t want Lazytown. Turning his back on the city, he began to wander down the road, not bothering to look back. It was a temporary fit of abandonment; he’d be back, he always was. But where would he go when he returned this time? He was twenty years old, homeless, a college dropout with an unfinished engineering degree, and had a reservoir of magic that he dared not touch without knowing more about it. He had _nothing._ Hopelessly, he trudged through the sucking mud, running his hands along his arms in a futile effort to warm himself.

Up ahead and to his right, he noticed a sealed manhole, and, figuring that it was better than nothing, he hastened his pace and stopped in front of it, peering down at it in curiosity. What was it? It looked like a sewer of some type, and he briefly shivered in disgust at the thought of waiting out the rain amidst unwanted bodily fluids, but, seeing as how he had no choice, he leaned down quickly and began to fiddle with the lock. Padlocks were easy for him to disassemble, and that’s exactly what he did, prying it apart with a hint of unconscious magic before pulling it off of the hatch. When he swung open the door and peered inside, he at first couldn’t see anything; then, with a little bit of squinting and a little bit of determination, his eyes adjusted. It was a maintenance tunnel, leading down about forty feet or so before stopping; whoever had started it had failed to complete it, and there was equipment down there at the base of the ladder.

Robbie swung his long legs quickly over the walls of the short silo and began to climb down the ladder, closing the lid behind him and effectively blocking out the rain. It was warm down here, kind of cozy in a way; as Robbie curled up at the bottom and began fiddling absent-mindedly with a wrench, he realized that this would have to be his new home from now on. Living in an unfinished maintenance tunnel was better than living on dusty benches _any_ day, no matter how badly it smelled down here of mildew.

With newfound hope, he began to think. Thinking wasn’t always a great thing for him to do, but at the moment, it was his only shot at scraping his life back together. He thought of ways he could improve this tunnel, perhaps renovate it, and he thought of ways to scavenge whatever he could from the burnt remains of his house, and he thought of ways he could climb back up the totem pole to establish himself once again as the feared villain, and, most importantly, he thought of ways he could enact revenge on Number Nine for destroying his life. Yes, down here in the dark and desolate tunnel, Robbie dusted off the gears in his mind, and he began, at long last, to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it even really a chapter if the title isn't eight words long? Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I think I've reinforced throughout the fic that my updates will be sporadic, and that sometimes means they'll be two days apart from each other. We're just now starting to get into the good stuff, so here we go! As always, thank you for the kudos and the comments- the last chapter I posted got 5 kudos in less than 24 hours! That's insane! 
> 
> On a tangent, the first fic I wrote was an Attack on Titan fic, and I used to hold myself to an extremely high standard with the word count- each chapter was upwards of 30k words, and it was ridiculous and long and I was burnt out by it very quickly. Shorter chapters are easier to write and more fun, so I guess the takeaway is that you should probably not worry about word counts and page numbers, and instead worry about writing content that both you and your audience will enjoy. 
> 
> Remember, I'm pulling for you! Keep your stick on the ice!


	5. Of Glanni & Men

”So how long ye been comin’ ‘ere?” the bartender asked, as if he didn’t already know, and he poured another drink for the lonely man in the dark coat, who glanced up from behind a large panama hat and scowled.

”As if you didn’t already know.”

”Shame, what ‘appened up in that Icelandic town, don’t ye ‘hink?” the bartender continued, leaning against the bar and sipping on a glass of water as he surveyed his empty establishment with a frown. “All tha’ stuff with the villain an’ shite.”

”Villains,” slurred the lonely man in the dark coat,”are not cartoon caricatures. You shouldn’t speak of them as such.”

”That sounds like some’hin’ a villain would say,” the bartender responded airily. “How do Ah know ye arennae one?”

”You don’t.” The lonely man in the dark coat downed his whisky and upturned the empty glass, planting it firmly on the polished oak bar. “I don’t, either, actually. Do any of us really know if we’re villains? Or are we just villains in someone else’s story?”

”Ye’re drunk, mate,” the bartender laughed, picking up the glass and crossing to the sink to wash it. “Ah’m cuttin’ ye aff.”

”I’m going to see my cousin down there,” the man continued, talking more to the drinks behind the bar than to the employee. “He’s in some trouble. Said he needs help.”

”An’ ye wannae fix ‘im somehow? Boy, that don’t work. Ye cannae let yersel’ be responsible for tha misgivin’s o’ others, ye know?”

”I know. But it’s my job, right? As his family. We don’t have anyone else who’ll do it. Might as well be me.”

”Ye’re a lonely man, aren’t ye?” The bartender pulled away from the sink, eyes narrowing. “Don’t ‘ave many lads?”

The man looked down at his hands, frowning. _God, I really am drunk. Fuck._ “How much do I owe?”

”Mate, ye already paid ye’re tab.”

”Then goodnight.” The man turned abruptly and headed for the door, pausing to glance in the mirror that hung above a booth. He looked exactly like his cousin; with a sigh, he pulled out his flip phone, dialing quickly. Robbie answered immediately.

”Glanni? What’s wrong? What do you need?”

”A ride,” Glanni replied, “from Scotland.”

\-----------------

”Nice place,” Glanni frowned, glancing around Robbie’s commandeered tunnel. “Quaint. Sultry, in a way, if you added candles. Very… intimate.”

”Help me dig,” Robbie responded, tossing another shovel-load of dirt into a heavy-duty bag. “I want this to go down for _miles_. If Lazytown can’t accept me at the surface, they’ll just have to accept me underground.”

”How’s it you’ve mastered teleportation but can’t dig your own damn hole?” Glanni yawned, leaning against the ladder and inspecting his manicure. “You’re like a goddamn bureaucrat.”

”Systems work, Glanni, you should try following them sometime,” Robbie responded through grit teeth, shoveling yet another load. He wasn’t very strong, and his shovel wasn’t very big; he’d made but a dent in the earth’s surface, and was growing increasingly agitated.

”Clearly they don’t,” came the response. Glanni shot out a hand, grabbing the shovel from Robbie and tossing it aside; before the pinstriped man could react, his cousin was gripping his wrists with both hands, pulling him in close. “You wanna learn how to cheat, or not?”

There was an intensity in Glanni’s eyes that Robbie wasn’t comfortable with, and he averted his gaze, frowning. “No,” he said meekly, “no, I don’t cheat. I’m better than cheating.”

”Not for long, you aren’t,” Glanni responded venomously. “You won’t tell me what’s going on, but you don’t need to. I know you’re gonna die down here if you don’t pull yourself together. Luckily, you’ve got _me_ to help you.” He shook Robbie’s wrists for emphasis. “Now. I’ll ask again. You wanna learn how to cheat, or not? Or should I reword it so you understand the stakes of saying no?”

He was met with silence.

”Thought so.” Glanni roughly released his cousin and clapped his hands together; the ground beneath them began to rumble, then gave way entirely, and they had no choice but to grab the ladder so as to avoid falling into the abyss that opened where dirt once stood. Robbie watched in awe, clinging to the cold rungs, as the hole deepened, and deepened, and deepened, and deepened some more, and grew deeper still, until he couldn’t see the bottom of the tunnel. Dirt shook loose from the sides of the growing hole, tumbling downwards in a great cloud, and Glanni stifled his laughter poorly, leaving Robbie wondering what the _hell_ he’d just done.

”I’ve just made you a new home,” Glanni pronounced in the same manner as though he were announcing the winners of Jeopardy. Robbie couldn’t form a response; he was too shocked, too stunned, too awestruck, too entirely bamboozled. The ground showed no signs of giving up in its pursuit of the Guinness World Record for Deep Holes; dust continued to crumble, the ground continued to shake, and Robbie glanced up at his cousin, his eyes dark.

”Now,” Robbie snarled, “I can’t get out! Thanks for ruining the only thing I had left!”

”Sure you can,” Glanni replied, “you just have to-”

”This guy bothering you, Robbie?” Number Nine asked from the top of the tunnel, peering through the silo, silhouetted in front of the bright sun. Robbie and Glanni both shot their eyes upwards, and Robbie, in his surprise, nearly lost his grip on the ladder; his cousin grabbed him, and the rumbling ceased. _How did he find me? Damn it, Glanni, I’m dead!_

”N-no,” Robbie choked out, “no, he’s not bothering me, no-”

”Because I can take care of that easily,” Nine continued, swinging the lid of the silo completely open and stepping over the side onto the first rung. “Looks like you quite a bit, don’t he?”

Glanni glanced at Robbie with a deadly smile, then began to climb the ladder towards Nine with murderous intent. He was never given the satisfaction; Nine spent no time at all in pushing himself away from the ladder, and he jumped down onto Glanni’s chest, wrapping his legs around the lonely man’s back and planting a firm punch into his upturned face.

This act put Glanni off balance, and with a shout, he lost his grip on the ladder; Robbie was powerless to do anything as he watched his cousin flash by him, then down, down, down into the dark depths of the tunnel. Nine grabbed the ladder at the last minute, then climbed back up to the top. Robbie knew he was smirking.

”There you go!” Nine exclaimed happily. “Now you can finish building your new home in peace.”

He then disappeared into the sunlight, leaving Robbie staring after him. He didn’t know how to react; his cousin was dead, Nine was gone, and now he was clinging to a ladder for dear life.

The best course of action now, he decided, was to keep clinging to the ladder, because if he didn’t, he would meet his cousin at the bottom, and not in an alive way.

\---------

”If you don’t stop that goddamned racket,” Robbie growled, pushing himself off of his bed and trailing a hand along his silk sheets as he headed angrily for the door to his bedroom. He slammed it open and gazed down the dark hallway once again, fuming. “Can’t a guy get any _sleep_ around here without you making _noise?!_ ”

”It wasn’t me!” the eyes snarled, appearing next to him with a glare. “It’s something up on the surface. Promise.”

”You’re a liar and you think I’m stupid,” Robbie said. “I’m going to kill you.”

”Too late for that, isn’t it?”

”Asshole.”

”Very mature, throwing around names like that,” the eyes laughed. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you’d have just teleported yourself as soon as you knew you were trapped.”

Robbie’s patience was wearing thin, and he produced a lighter from his waistcoat, flicking it on so as to see his way into the darkness of his lair. The power had gone out two hours ago; his generators, he knew, were toast. He’d have to occupy his time by finding another light source. The nagging voice continued.

”Say, if you hadn’t used your magic healing your foot, maybe we’d be eating at Sardi’s right now.”

”Leg,” Robbie corrected absentmindedly. _Where’s the goddamn lanterns?_

”Leg,” the eyes repeated. “Anyway. I would help you if I could, but you don’t seem to want any help, do you, Robbie?”

”I’m done talking to you,” Robbie snapped. “Ah, here we are. Lanterns.”

”Lanterns? You’ve got more money than that, Robbie. You must have something better than storm lanterns.”

”I did,” Robbie muttered, lighting a lantern and allowing the warmth to spread across his skin, “but they all _burned,_ remember?”

”Oh yeah. Forgot about that.”

”Do you _ever_ shut up?”

”Only when you need me to,” the eyes replied, and Robbie’s chest sank at the implications.

”Glanni?”

”Yes?”

”I’m going to die down here, aren’t I.” It wasn’t a question. He knew. Another loud bang sounded above him, and his eyes shot upwards, glaring. “That racket-!”

”Don’t be so sure,” the white eyes said, floating back down the hallway and towards the gramophone. “Don’t be so sure of anything, ever. You don’t know.”

”Thank you.”

The click of a record echoed, and Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 began to lilt through the air. Robbie slammed his fist into the table beside his orange chair, shouting in anger. No! He was _not_ listening to this again! “Change it or I’m going to kill you for real!”

”You can’t kill someone who’s already dead,” Glanni responded, and Robbie _hated_ how right he was. Another loud bang sounded above.

\---------

”Almost there,” Sportacus muttered to himself, smashing through yet another layer of melted steel. The kids watched him with wide eyes; Bessie had allowed them to join him, but only because they would not stop begging. Sportacus had his ear chewed off for it, and so he glanced up at them as they circled the silo, offering a slightly annoyed smile. “Kids, it’s too cold! You really should be going back inside!”

”Sportacus, we already told you,” Stephanie laughed, “we can’t leave you alone out here. You’re just as cold as us!”

”Yeah! Yeah, Sportacus, you’re just like us!” Ziggy exclaimed in agreement, and Stingy gave a nod, eyes closed.

”Really, Sportacus, I can bring you a blanket,” Pixel offered. “I have one at my house!”

”Kids, really,” Sportacus insisted, “you should go back inside where it’s warm. I’m an adult, remember? I can handle the cold, but you kids need to take care of your bodies! Staying warm is a great way to do that.”

”Can’t we help you, Sportacus? Pleeeeeease?” Ziggy begged, and Trixie nodded defiantly, firmly planting her feet in the snow and refusing to move. Sportacus popped his head over the walls of the silo and leaned against his sledgehammer, shaking his head.

”You have to let me do this alone, okay?” he said. “You can help me by going back inside. Tell you what! Have some nice hot cocoa. It’s okay to have sweets sometimes, this can be one of those times!”

Ziggy didn’t need to be told anything else, and he grabbed Trixie, dragging her back down the hill towards town. Stephanie was unconvinced.

”You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

she asked.

”I’m certain of it,” Sportacus smiled. She sighed, then nodded, and her friends trusted her, following, shooting Sportacus smiles and ‘good luck’s over their shoulders. Satisfied, Sportacus returned to work, swinging the sledgehammer hard against the cheap steel.

He heard a resounding crack, and his heart skipped a beat- one more swing, and the edge of the hammer slammed through the solid metal, shoving a hole into the roof of the lair and sending bits and pieces of steel floating to the floor. He pulled the hammer into the air again, widening the opening, and Robbie looked up through the crack, eyes squinting against the sudden bright light.

He was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's pretty short, but I wanted to give you guys _something_ for waiting so long. We've breached the tunnel! Here we go! Steamy romance full speed ahead! Stay tuned, next chapter is going to be some serious, SERIOUS fluff! And maybe angst, but mixed in, you know? Like a smoothie.


End file.
